Bryce vs the Paved Road
by sharpasamarble
Summary: Bryce decides to protect his best friend, and quickly finds out how easily things can spin out of his control. Standalone one-shot.
1. Best Laid Plans

Bryce sat on the edge of his bed, arms resting on his knees as he examined the other half of the room. The bed held only a bare mattress. The walls had been stripped of the movie posters. The bulletin board with the five-year plan, the articles about business leaders, and the ream of start-up ideas were long gone. As was his best friend.

In truth, his best friend had been gone since the day Professor Fleming called him into his office to tell Chuck another student had not only accused him of cheating, but had found the answer key to the latest exam under Chuck's bed. His last week at Stanford was spent in a daze. He stopped going to class. He wouldn't talk to any of his friends. He wouldn't have eaten, except that his girlfriend, Jill, would stop by and force him to eat something.

Bryce mostly avoided the dorm room. Even when Bryce was there, Chuck showed little interest in speaking to him. He couldn't blame him in the least: Bryce was the one who made the accusations.

The two spoke exactly twice after Chuck's meeting with the professor. The first was immediately after the meeting: Bryce had purposely hung around the dorm room so that Chuck knew exactly where to find him. The confrontation was inevitable, and he wasn't going to make Chuck chase him around campus. That was the least he could do.

Bryce couldn't remember much of the conversation. He remembered Chuck's hurt, his anger, his utter confusion. He remembered Chuck's justified outrage at the false accusations. And he remembered how he pushed down every last bit of his emotion, putting up a cold wall in the face of his best friend. Bryce let Chuck vent for a while before throwing out one final, bitter accusation. Then he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Afterwards, Bryce ran the three miles to the Stanford football stadium as fast he could. When it wasn't enough, he proceeded to run the steps until he puked. As the last trickles of vomit splattered on the top concourse, he stood up and let out an anguished cry that echoed through the empty stadium. None of it helped.

He shook himself out of the memory. All of this was necessary, he reminded himself. If he hadn't forced the professor to invalidate the test results by claiming Chuck cheated, Chuck would have been forcibly entered into the CIA recruitment track. He didn't have the make-up to be an agent. Bryce knew something about that, as he was in training to become an agent himself.

Chuck would be dead within a year of completing training. Bryce wouldn't let that happen. Bryce couldn't let that happen. Chuck was too good a person.

Still, he hadn't anticipated some of the other consequences. Chuck getting kicked out of school was one of them. Many students who were caught cheating were given probation or a suspension. However, the honor board determined that a student with Chuck's grades was likely to have cheated in other classes as well. Despite no evidence of any other cheating, Chuck was summarily expelled.

Bryce shook his head. That wasn't part of the plan.

The expulsion directly led to the second conversation. The entire fraternity had gathered to see Chuck off. Opinions varied as to how Chuck should be treated, but Chuck was a brother, and all were there to see him off. That was the least they could do.

Bryce played pool as Chuck cleaned out the last of his belongings; it gave him something other than Chuck to focus on, and allowed him to mostly avoid the accusing stares. Still, he could feel the eyes on him. The members of the fraternity knew Chuck too well, and just as many suspected he was the guilty one.

Such was the effect Chuck had on people ... and why he had to do what he did.

He didn't need to look up from his shot to know Chuck was coming down the stairs: the room quickly grew quiet; only the sound of creaking footsteps on the old stairs filled the room. Only the sound of Chuck's sneakers disturbed the silence as Chuck reached the bottom of the stairs. At least, that was the only sound until Bryce callously and deliberately pocketed the 14-ball in the side pocket, drawing the cue ball back to his end of the table on the leave. He lined up his next shot.

"Sucks that you have to leave, Chuck," one of the brothers said. A couple other brothers murmured their agreement. Still, Bryce focused on his shot. He wanted to look at his friend as little as possible. His friend was already gone, he reminded himself. Given time, Chuck would find his way again. That's what mattered.

Bryce heard the footsteps move towards him, several brothers clearing a path to the pool table. Focusing, Bryce pocketed the 10-ball in the far corner, and stood up. It was time for one last confrontation.

Chuck just stared for a moment, his eyes searching Bryce's. Bryce expected anger. He expected emotion. He got neither.

"I don't get it Bryce. Why'd you do it?" Chuck was timid and numb in his questioning, so unlike the friend that had grown in confidence since the day they'd met. Even in that moment, Chuck seemed to expect that Bryce could provide some explanation to make everything right. That was how much Chuck still loved him, despite what Bryce had done.

Bryce's face was a cold mask. "You brought this upon yourself," was all he said. But it was enough. Chuck's expression closed off. It took every bit of Bryce's CIA training not to show any emotion as he cut the last ties to his best friend.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Chuck began a shamed walk out of the fraternity. Bryce walked around the side of the table, and leaned down to take aim. "8-ball, side pocket," he muttered. The door to the fraternity house slammed shut as he drew his cue back, causing him to flinch slightly. Taking the wrong angle, the cue ball sliced into the corner pocket.


	2. Reminiscing

A knock at the door stole Bryce from his reverie. He looked at the clock; it was 3:23 in the morning. Who would be up at this hour? The CIA?

Forcing himself to get to his feet, he crossed the room to the door. He opened the door.

A pretty brunette with straight black hair tapering in at the ends stared back at him. Her bright green eyes had an exotic, catlike quality to them that made her smile all the more luminescent. Of course, she wasn't smiling at the moment.

"Can I come in?" Jill asked.

Bryce would only have been more stunned if Chuck had been on the other side of the door. After collecting himself, he softly replied, "Sure." He stepped aside to allow Jill in.

Jill's breath seemed to catch a little as she walked into the room, looking around as if trying to recognize the place. She wore a Stanford sweatshirt and a pair of slight-faded, form-fitting jeans that accented her petite figure.

Bryce closed the door. Jill, like Chuck, had really blossomed over the past couple of years. At the beginning of freshman year, she had been a shy girl who tended to lounge around her dorm room in plain white T-shirts and baggy jeans, usually with a hole or two in them. Back then, she sported a tomboyish haircut and a bit of a chip on shoulder.

She had been an outsider in high school, but coming to Stanford had exposed Jill to a new crowd, one that respected her intelligence rather than ostracizing her for it. Finally feeling comfortable in her own skin, she shed her shyness and made some close friends on her freshman hall. Because of friends like Chuck and Bryce, Jill had gradually evolved into the woman examining the nail and tape marks on the wall, a sad smile and a bit of a laugh escaping her lips as she remembered some detail about what had been there.

Bryce walked back to his bed, and sat down. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked her rhetorically.

Jill briefly finished her survey, and then sat down on Chuck's mattress across from Bryce. She shook her head. "I miss him so much."

"Have you talked to him?"

"I've called a couple of times. Mostly I get no answer. One time Ellie picked up his phone; she apologized for him. Said he's been holed up in his room ever since he came home."

"You should go visit him. He'd like that."

"I'm thinking about going this weekend, if I can find a car."

"You can borrow mine."

"That's sweet, but no offense: I don't think Chuck would be too happy if I showed up in your car." She pulled off her sweatshirt in the warm room, revealing a flirty, short-sleeved green top that highlighted her eyes

Bryce nodded. He wanted to do something to help Chuck, but the reality was there was no longer anything he could do. He had to be content with protecting him from the dangers of the CIA.

A melancholy smile took over her face. "I was thinking about the day we met Chuck earlier tonight. I guess I just wanted to reminisce a little." Bryce matched her sad smile with one of his own, and the two started sharing their memories of Chuck.

Chuck had entered both their lives on the same day. Bryce, always gregarious, struck up a conversation with Chuck on the quad. He had recognized Chuck from one of his classes, one where he was struggling with the coursework. Looking to commiserate, he was surprised to find out that Chuck was taking the class on a whim.

In many people, that type of attitude would have rubbed him the wrong way, but there was something about Chuck that made him difficult to dislike. He was honest and earnest, without a hint of pretension.

Bryce had pretty good instincts about people, so when he found out about Chuck's interest in computer games, he instantly offered to introduce Chuck to Jill. The first meeting between the two was a little painful, with neither one being particularly good at interacting with members of the opposite sex. However, the shy attraction between the two was impossible to deny.

Bryce grabbed a couple other people from their hall, and the group wandered down to the student center to grab a snack. He honestly was hoping just to get the two of them talking, but he found himself drawn into their conversation as well. The three ended up spending most of the day together.

At Bryce's urging, Chuck had stashed his stack of books in Jill's room before heading out, so he had a built-in excuse to walk back to her room alone with Jill … once Bryce begged off to talk to somebody else on the hall.

He put himself in an inconspicuous position to watch how the evening ended for the pair without intruding. Both Jill and Chuck were too nervous to actually kiss, but they shared a sweet, if awkward, silence that suggested romance wasn't too far away.

Bryce wasn't as lucky to find somebody he clicked with, at least not for any length period of time, but that didn't stop the three from hanging out together. Soon, the three were thick as thieves. 

As Bryce and Jill talked, he marveled at the change in her since freshman year. She had truly blossomed, and a large part of that, Bryce knew, was due to Chuck. Just by the way he treated her, he increased her confidence by leaps and bounds, allowing Jill to become more comfortable with whom she was and to explore whom she wanted to be. If Bryce had seen this confident, self-assured Jill freshman year, he might have gone after her himself.

The conversation lagged as their memories came closer and closer to present day, closer and closer to the question she hadn't asked yet. When she looked down to fiddle with her fingers, Bryce knew the question was coming.

Unable to look at him, she asked, "Why'd you do it, Bryce?" unknowingly echoing Chuck. Finally, she raised her eyes to his, awaiting his answer.

Bryce answered the question with another question. "What would you do if you found out a friend had cheated? Even your best friend?"

Jill was torn. "I don't know. I'd probably wish I'd never discovered the secret."

"Well, that wasn't an option. I ended up doing what I knew was right, no matter how much it hurt."

"And did it hurt?"

"You have no idea." Bryce let his eyes show his pain; he shook his head and looked away. "You have no idea."

Jill's eyes started to moisten. "I just miss him so much." Unable to hold back the tears, she started to cry.

Finally, there was something Bryce could do for Chuck. He crossed the room to sit next to Jill, wrapping his arms around her to comfort her. She turned towards him, sobbing uncontrollably, grabbing hold of his shirt with one hand. Bryce fought back tears of his own.


	3. Consequences

The next morning, Tony, one of Bryce's fraternity brothers, knocked on Bryce's door a little after 8:30 am. The two jogged together three mornings a week, including that Wednesday.

"Hey, Larkin, let's go!"

He heard stirring inside the room. Tony grinned; usually he was the one to oversleep, and Bryce would always storm into his room and give him hell. It was time for a little payback.

Tony turned the door knob; the door was unlocked. He swung the door open. "Larkin, you S.O.B., get your lazy…" He stopped dead in his tracks. 

Jill stood in the middle of the room, pulling her sweatshirt on over her green top. She froze as the door opened, wordlessly staring at Tony. 

Bryce lay in bed, groggily stirring. "What the hell…?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Tony said, "Man, that just ain't right."

Finally realizing what was happening, Bryce sat up. He held out a cautionary hand as he said, "Tony, this isn't what it looks like."

Tony backed out of the room, clearly not believing Bryce. "That just ain't right." He closed the door behind him.

Jill finished pulling her sweatshirt on, a haunted look in her eyes. "Bryce, you have to go after him! You have to make him believe you!"

Bryce stared emptily into space. He knew there wasn't any stopping what would happen next.

Two days later, Bryce packed several books, the last of his belongings from his room, into a box and taped the top shut. He had arranged for an apartment off-campus when it became apparent that he was no longer welcome in the fraternity house.

Bryce had spent most of Wednesday desperately trying to convince his brothers that nothing had happened. Even though he knew he probably would sway nobody, he spoke with everyone who would listen. As predicted, none of them were buying his story.

He had known letting Jill spend the night was a bad idea. However, Jill was so distraught and Chuck couldn't be there, and he so badly wanted to help his friend. Plus, he finally found somebody who understood how much it hurt for Chuck to be gone. Bryce needed that, more than he would have cared to admit.

Now, the damage was done. Several of his brothers coldly informed him that they had told Chuck what Bryce had done, and exactly what they thought of him. At least they were speaking to him; the commons room tended to grow silent in a hurry whenever Bryce passed through. 

The writing was on the wall, so on Thursday he informed the fraternity president that he would be moving out Friday night.

Friday came all too quickly. Bryce made a thorough check of the room for anything he missed; it looked clean. He checked again; it couldn't hurt to be careful, considering some of the CIA materials he had in his possession.

Jill was on her way to Los Angeles. Chuck still wasn't answering her calls, so she had no idea whether any of the messages from Chuck's friends had gotten through. Regardless, she was going to try to make things right. He hoped Chuck would listen. But, once again, there was nothing he could do. He had done enough already, he grimly thought.

Bryce picked up the last two boxes and the roll of tape, and took one last look around the room. He could picture the room, and the roommates, as they were two weeks ago. How much had changed, and how little had been part of the plan. But, he reminded himself, he had to protect his friend.

Balancing the boxes on one arm, he turned out the lights and shut the door, leaving his key in the lock. He walked down the stairs to the commons room, wondering if this was how Chuck felt when he left.

It wasn't, because there was no growing silence as he reached the bottom of the steps. There were no accusing stares. There was nobody in the commons room waiting to see him off.

He took a moment to look around, again picturing the room as it was two weeks ago. He had won the fraternity pool tournament that night. Remembering the ribbing and the laughing and the camaraderie, he gave a rueful grin at the thought.

Without looking back, he walked out of the fraternity house. This was all part of the sacrifice he made when he accepted the CIA recruitment track. He was going to need to shed Chuck, his fraternity brothers and all his other friends after school anyway, and graduation wasn't that far off. Things were just happening sooner than he wanted.

Still, he hated how much it hurt, and how much his emotion led to all the consequences that he couldn't control: Chuck getting kicked out of school, Jill spending the night, and becoming persona non grata at his fraternity. He had had the best of intentions, and still it all blew up on him.

It was a lesson well-learned. He needed to shut himself off from other people to prevent his emotions from getting in the way of the decisions he would need to make. It was all part of the sacrifice.

Putting the last two boxes in the trunk of his beat-up gold Mazda, he slammed the lid shut. He got into the car and turned the key, listening to the whine of the engine. The fan belt gave a high-pitched protest before sliding into place.

He looked over at the passenger seat, still pushed all the way back from the last time Chuck sat there. Despite the choices he had made, he desperately wished his friend were there.

But that wasn't the path he had chosen. He pulled out without looking and sped off down the paved road.


End file.
